The Daily Agony of Love
by VGWrighte
Summary: Because the end of Series 2 wasn't heartbreaking enough, a rewrite of 2.8-S4CS which extends Patrick and Shelagh's emotional roller coaster. Rated T for themes (a bit darker than the show is), but I promise a happy ending. COMPLETE, COMPLETE (with 2 extra chapters from the original draft)
1. Returning Home (A Clear Set of XRays)

The Daily Agony of Love

[2.8] Chapter 1: Returning Home (A Clear Set of X-Rays)

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

Author's Sidebar: I debated on whether or not to write this story. I don't like "Alternate Universes" in non-science fiction genres. However, after I read the books by Jennifer Worth and realized how much "developing" Heidi Thomas did, I decided to go for it. I tried to make this as "Patrick and Shelagh emotional roller coaster" as I could. I do promise a happy ending, though. ENJOY!

Author's Sidebar 2: I hope American readers are out there right now and not avoiding this site like the plague, in an attempt to avoid spoilers, as I presently am.

\- - Saint Anne's Sanatorium, Fall 1958 - -

Sister Bernadette sat patiently in the foyer of Saint Anne's Sanatorium, Tuberculosis Hospital. She had been discharged that morning and had intended to take the bus back to Poplar, however Sister Julienne insisted she wait for someone to retrieve her.

So, here she sat. She felt a certain amount of apprehension about returning to Nonnatus House. Things had likely not changed all together while she was receiving treatment, but she had been out of the game - as it were - for some time.

Still, she knew with complete certainty that Sister Julienne would not allow her to work full time until she had convalesced for another several weeks. Sister Bernadette assumed she would attend clinic, as normal, and thought that she would perhaps assume some of Sister Julienne's administrative duties, allowing the more senior Sister to get out in town to cover more patients.

She had felt guilty for abandoning the East End, but knew that had her tuberculosis progressed, she would've transmitted it onto dozens of unsuspecting mothers, infants, and children; so her guilt was easy to assuage.

However, the midwifery was not the only thing she was apprehensive about.

Doctor Turner.

She had left things in an uncomfortable place, for both of them. The separation had allowed her to think and pray clearly. Yes, she was in love with him. While she didn't understand why, she did finally understand that she did. And having the understanding of her own heart gave her the strength to continue. For a time, she had thought she was in the wrong place. But, no longer. She was called to be a midwife, and Poplar was where she was needed.

She could now live and work with him every day without the agonizing heartache, or feeling as if she was the greatest sinner and biggest liar in creation. She was sure of it.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" a very familiar cockney accent interrupted her pondering.

Sister Bernadette looked up and met his gaze with a large grin. "Not half as much as you are, Fred." She stood to greet him.

He picked up her overcoat and helped her into it. "Sister Julienne sent me to fetch you so as to take my mind off of my Dolly." After picking up her portmanteau, he looked down his nose at her conspiratorially, "What she doesn't know is this is a preferred duty to sitting around waiting for a baby to born."

"In either case, I'll consider it a sacrifice on your part, Fred, and am much appreciative."

Together they left Saint Anne's Sanatorium behind and returned home, to Poplar.

\- - End Chapter One - -


	2. Unconventional Families

The Daily Agony of Love

[2.8] Chapter 2: Unconventional Families

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - Nonnatus House, Fall 1958 - -

Sister Bernadette had only been back at Nonnatus House for a few hours and couldn't help but feel out of place. Upon her homecoming, she had been met with joyous but distracted faces. Nurse Noakes, in the early stages of labor, was exceptionally grateful to see her, but the moment passed quickly as the nurses ushered Chummy up to her room, having only let her out to greet the wayward nun and prepare the room.

Sister Bernadette found herself in the sitting room, alone. Her mind drifted to the Turners. Did they know she was back? She assumed Sister Julienne informed Doctor Turner that she had a clean bill of health and had been discharged this morning. And, of course, the Doctor would tell his son. She knew she should visit with Timothy soon, she had to deliver the diagnosis of his butterfly.

She was looking forward to seeing Timothy. Even before going to the Sanatorium, she knew she loved him and was entirely comfortable with that revelation.

The next few hours passed quickly and stressfully. Finally, they all settled fretfully in the sitting room, waiting for news of Chummy at The London.

"Her family doesn't even know," Nurse Miller said.

"Yes they do. Because they're right here. We're Chummy's family," Nurse Lee said and Sister Bernadette was reminded that this was and always would be her family. Her Sisters, the nurses, Fred, Mrs. B, the Noakes', the Turners . . .

The Noakes'.

Peter.

He was alone at the hospital. She couldn't imagine the pain and fear he was feeling alone.

Without thinking twice, she stood and went to the telephone and dialed a familiar number.

" _Turner_ ," he answered the telephone only after a few rings.

For a split second - which felt like an eternity - she didn't know what to say. She hadn't prepared herself to hear his voice after so long. It had echoed in her mind for weeks: _The triple treatment can do wonders_ , the last thing he had said to her.

"I was hoping I could beg a favor."

" _Sister Bernadette?_ " he sounded surprised, and perhaps confused.

"Yes."

" _Where are you?_ "

"Nonnatus House. And I'll be more than happy to discuss it with you at a later date, but a favor?"

" _Of course, anything,_ " he sounded a bit breathless.

"Constable Noakes is at The London, waiting. There isn't anyone there with him. I was wondering if you would be able to sit with him."

He responded almost before she finished speaking. " _Of course, I'll . . ._ " he paused, his mind having caught up to his mouth. " _Timothy_."

"Bring him here," she replied before thinking it through. After a short moment, she considered it a second time and decided it was, indeed, an acceptable option. "I'll look after him and you can retrieve him later this evening or in the morning."

" _Excellent, we'll be along shortly_."

"Thank you, Doctor."

There was a pregnant pause before they said their goodbyes. " _Sister_ ," he said at length, " _It's good to hear your voice again. You can't imagine my relief at the success of your treatment._ "

She smiled, somewhat shyly, appreciative no one could see her. "Thank you, Doctor, but I mustn't keep you." She hung up the receiver, aware that she was being more than a little terse.

The Turners arrived a short time later, Doctor in a signature suit and off-color jumper and Timothy in his pajamas, house coat, and overcoat; shoes thrown on hastily and laces untied.

Timothy, clearly having been taken directly from his bed, and likely having fallen back asleep in the car, threw his arms around her waist, tucking his head into her side. "I'm so glad you're okay," he said.

Sister Bernadette was mildly surprised, but put her arms around him. "Thank you, Timothy. I missed you, as well."

Doctor Turner was quite speechless upon seeing her, but recovered by wishing his son a goodnight, and reminding him

to be on his best behavior for the nuns.

After ruffling his son's hair, he met her gaze. "It's good to see you."

"You as well," she said, she couldn't lie.

They stared at each other for a moment before Timothy mumbled something, reminding them both of his presence.

"I'll be off, then." He quickly turned on his heel and returned to his vehicle, driving off.

Sister Bernadette accompanied Timothy inside, hung his overcoat on one of the hooks in the foyer and rejoined her Sisters and the nurses in the sitting room. They had made space for the two of them on the settee, and continued their sewing.

Timothy sat comfortably between her and the arm of the settee. After only a few minutes, he curled up against her and fell asleep. She adjusted her arm around his shoulders and stroked his hair gently. If the others noticed, they said nothing. They just continued piecing the blanket in their labor of love and prayerful silence.

With each stitch, she prayed for Chummy, Peter, Doctor Turner, Timothy, her Sisters, the nurses, Fred and his new grandchild, and the strength of mind to continue to answer the call, and for the knowledge of the purpose of her love for a man she could never have.

\- - End Chapter Two - -


	3. Christmas

The Daily Agony of Love

[Series 3 Christmas Special] Chapter 3: Christmas

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - The Leopold Institute, December 23, 1958 - -

Patrick looked at his watch, again, and sighed. He had been on hold for nearly thirty minutes now. He now regretted leaving Timothy at home. He hadn't expected Nurse Miller's call to turn into a several hour affair and the threat of a polio outbreak.

Sister Bernadette walked past, carrying linens. He gently snagged her elbow, she paused abruptly and looked up at him. Meeting her gaze, he released her arm as if it burned him. "Forgive me, Sister, but may I ask a favor?"

"Of course, Doctor."

Looking down into her kind face, he momentarily forgot what he needed. His powers of concentration were significantly degraded in her presence. Fortunately, he quickly regained his wits. "I left Timothy home, I was hoping you wouldn't mind fetching him. I'd hate if he had to spent too much time alone this close to Christmas. He is very fond of you," his words startled him and he quickly tacked on a "all," implying Timothy enjoyed all the nuns and nurses. This was certainly, true, but his son did have a certain fondness for Sister Bernadette. Patrick could hardly blame his son, he also had a certain fondness for Sister Bernadette.

At least, that is what he would say if anyone asked him. To himself, he admitted that it was far more than fondness.

She smiled sweetly. "We are fond of him, as well, Doctor. I'll retrieve him presently."

"Thank you, Sister." He felt as if he should say something additional, but didn't know what. He just watched her face, her eyes focused on his own.

Seconds passed before she seemed to realize it was happening and she quickly turned from him, hurrying from the room.

He sighed deeply again. He seemed to have that effect on her. He made her uncomfortable, and he needed to alter his behavior to cease doing so. It was unfair of him. It was unfair and unkind. His feelings were an affront to her religion, her beliefs, her entire way of life.

For not the first time in the last several weeks, he thought of the letters he wrote her. And he was incredibly grateful he had never sent them. If he had . . . he didn't know if she would be able to endure his presence if she knew how he felt about her. He didn't know if she could forgive him for being in love with her.

\- - Turner Residence - -

Sister Bernadette knocked on the door to the Turner's flat a third time. Her brow furrowed, surely Timothy wouldn't have gone out without his father's permission. She did consider the possibility that the boy phoned the Leopold Institute and received permission from his father while she was en route. However, she doubted Doctor Turner would allow his son to leave the house when she was on her way.

She tried the door, on the off chance that it was unlocked. It was not.

She surveyed the door, thinking. She checked under the mat, no luck. There were several flower pots lining the walk, she checked under all of them. Again, no luck.

Putting her hands on her hips, she considered the door again. A pragmatic man, she was sure Doctor Turner had a spare key somewhere.

Inspiration struck. He was a tall man, taller than many.

She moved two flower pots right next to the door and carefully stepped atop them, her fingers feeling across the top of the lintel. Her fingers brushed against something and there was the light clatter of a key dropping on concrete. She stepped down from the flower pots and located the key on the ground and let herself into the flat, feeling quite accomplished.

"Hello?" she called out. "Timothy?"

She stepped into the living room and saw him. Timothy was curled up on the settee, looking most unwell. She rushed to him. "Timothy!" He didn't respond to her. "Timothy, Dearest, wake up." She shook him, trying to be firm but gentle. "Come now, stir your stumps."

"Tired," he mumbled.

"Timothy, can you sit up for me?" she asked, feeling increasingly frantic. She had seen these symptoms too many times before. She prayed to God she was wrong.

"Can't."

Sister Bernadette slipped the boy's shoes off and put her hand flat against the sole of his foot. "Timothy, Dear, can you wiggle your toes for me?"

He couldn't.

"That alright," she reassured him, attempting to calm herself. If she was hysterical, he would get scared. "You just wait here one moment," she told him, "I'm going to make a telephone call." She ran her fingers through his hair several times before rushing to the telephone in the foyer and dialing the emergency line.

"Ambulance," she told the man on the other end of the line. "10 year old boy. I'm a trained nurse and I believe it's polio." She gave him the address and rushed back to Timothy's side.

She gently lifted his head and sat on the couch, resting his head in her lap. "Don't be afraid," she told him, stroking his hair. "I'm with you, Dear. It will all be alright." He hugged his shoulders tight for a second. "I won't leave you, I promise."

\- - The Royal London Hospital, Children's Ward - -

Sister Bernadette couldn't have been more relieved that she didn't speak with Doctor Turner directly. She didn't know if she had the strength to tell him his son had polio. Instead, she spoke with Sister Evangelina and relied on her to deliver the agonizing news.

She rushed back to the bed, now enclosed by screens, where she had left Timothy in the capable hands of the staff.

"Sister," the matron greeted her, "we have everything in hand. You're not needed here."

She nodded. "May I stay? At least until his father arrives, I wouldn't want him to be alone."

The matron seemed to consider it for a few moments before nodding. "We normally don't permit non-family members . . ." she trailed off, considering.

At that moment, she couldn't've wished to be his mother more.

"However," the matron continued, "considering the circumstances, I believe we can allow it."

Sister Bernadette went to Timothy, and crouched next to his bed, she gripped his hand and smiled softly at him. "You're in the best of hands now, and your father is on his way. I just spoke with Sister Evangelina."

Timothy didn't respond verbally, or even shake his head. He simply blinked and stared at her.

"I'll stay with you until he arrives. You won't be alone."

He opened his mouth and his breath caught.

Sister Bernadette turned to the matron so quickly, she nearly lost her balance. "He can't clear his throat!" all semblance of calm was gone, she was entirely hysterical now.

The matron grabbed her shoulders, "You must leave now."

As she was pulled away, tears in her eyes, she met Timothy's gaze. He looked afraid.

\- - The Royal London Hospital, Outside the Children's Ward - -

Tears streamed down her face as Sister Bernadette watched through the door. She should be with him. What if he was still scared? Timothy had lost consciousness, what seemed like hours ago. But he had been afraid when he did. What if he was having nightmares? She should be with him. She needed to be with him.

She had promised she wouldn't leave him. He needed her.

The sound of running distracted her and she turned from the door for a moment, long enough to see Doctor Turner sprinting down the hall.

"I'm sorry," she said, unable to say anything else. "I'm so sorry." Her words felt hollow and meaningless.

He paused long enough to look at her and briefly touch the hand she held out to him and he burst through the doors.

Sister Bernadette watched Doctor Turner freeze and stare at his son encased in an iron lung. She watched him slowly approach it. The matron turned to him and they exchanged a few words, Doctor Turner's gaze never leaving his son.

She pinched her eyes shut as Doctor Turner bent over his son, pressing his forehead to Timothy's.

She didn't have the strength to watch this. And she was not family, so she wasn't permitted to be there. Defeated and terrified, she turned away from the heartbreaking view and left. She was going to return to the Leopold Institute, to her Sisters, to the only strength she had left.

That year, the Sisters of Nonnatus House brought Christmas to the Children's Ward.

\- - End Chapter Three - - -


	4. Statements and Examinations

The Daily Agony of Love

[3.1] Chapter 4: Statements and Examinations

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

Author's Sidebar: **THIS IS THE DARK CHAPTER!** I debated on whether or not to warn you, but decided to do so. **YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!** Things do look up significantly in later chapters, after some more roller-coastering. This is one of the two chapters that is giving the story a T rating.

\- - Nonnatus House, Early Spring , 1959- -

"Sister Monica Joan!" Sister Winifred exclaimed as she ushered them inside. "You weren't at Compline!"

Patrick removed his cap. "She needs a hot drink, and tuck her up with a hot water bottle, " he said with stern finality.

"Hark, for he is a physician and a man, and expects to be listened to. If only he had ears to hear the words of others, and eyes to read their books."

Patrick released a long-suffering sigh at this. She expected him to listen to her? If she listened to him, she wouldn't wander the streets in the dead of night so often. He looked past her to Sister Winifred. "Might I speak with Sister Julienne?"

"Certainly, Doctor," she responded, "she is in her office."

Patrick made his way to Sister Julienne's office. He wasn't so much reporting Sister Monica Joan, as expressing his concern for her. Times like these, she was a large burden on the Sisters, and was a large part of the decision to bring Sister Winifred to Poplar. Extra pairs of hands were invaluable when it came to the wandering nun.

He knocked gently on her door and waited for her to respond before entering. "Doctor Turner, what brings you out this late, in this weather?"

"Sister Monica Joan."

She reacted immediately, a mixture of concern and tolerance-stretched-thin on her face.

"She felt the compulsion to come to my home to deliver a book, somehow related to Nurse Lee's young patients."

Sister Julienne sighed. "She has expressed great interest in this case."

He held his hands out in offering. "I understand that. I encourage it, even. The mental exercise has a positive effect on her lucidity. However, risking pneumonia does not."

There was a knock on the door and Patrick turned to see Sister Winifred at the door. "Forgive me, Sister," she said, "But there is a police sergeant on the telephone. It's about Sister Bernadette."

\- - Police Station - -

He had driven Sister Julienne in silence, the words "Sister Bernadette has been attacked" sounded repeatedly in his mind. He didn't often pray, but he did now. And he knew Sister Julienne did as well.

Normally, she waited for him to open her door, but, this evening, she did not. He had to rush to keep pace with her, and followed her into the police station.

"Sister Julienne, Doctor Turner, thank you for coming so quickly," the sergeant greeted them. Cooper, Patrick read from the tag on the man's jacket.

"Where is she?" Sister Julienne asked.

"She's in my office," Sergeant Cooper answered. "One of the two suspects has been apprehended and is presently in custody."

"How is she?" Patrick asked.

"Not nearly as bad as some I have seen. She didn't want to give a statement until you were here, Sister. And of course, Doctor, I'll request you perform an examination for the report."

He nodded, unable to speak. Listening to the tuberculosis in her lungs had been difficult enough. Now this.

"Two suspects?" Sister Julienne repeated.

Sergeant Cooper nodded. "My constables witnessed two men fleeing, but were only able to apprehend one."

"May we see her?" Sister asked.

The Sergeant nodded. "Of course."

He lead them to his office and they saw Sister Bernadette sitting in a chair in the corner. Her hands were folded and her head was bent down slightly. She was not wearing her glasses, nor her wimple, though her simple cap remained. Without looking directly in the face, she didn't look all that worse for wear.

A female constable sat next to the door.

When they entered, Sister Bernadette jumped and looked up at them. She had a large abrasion on the side of her face and a split lip. She met his gaze for a moment, but quickly averted her eyes. Sister Julienne rushed to her and took her in her arms. Patrick wished he could do the same.

"I'll give you all a few moments, and return with my secretary."

The policemen left.

"Sister," Sister Julienne breathed.

Sister Bernadette wiped her eyes. "I'm alright. I'll be alright."

Sister Julienne enveloped Sister Bernadette in her arms again, and squeezed her tight before releasing and sitting next to each other. They clasped hands.

"I should've brought your spare pair of glasses," Sister Julienne said, her voice breaking.

Sister Bernadette shook her head, "It's no matter."

They bent their heads together. Patrick couldn't hear them speak, but understood they were praying.

He felt like an interloper, out of place, a voyeur. He wanted to do nothing more than hold her in his arms, but that would not have been appropriate, especially considering the situation.

Several minutes later, Sergeant Cooper and a secretary returned. The Sergeant sat at his desk, the secretary had brought his own chair and Patrick moved to the corner, behind Sister Bernadette. He almost wanted to hide. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear her story.

She took a deep breath and cleared her voice before speaking. "The rain had made the cobble stones very slick, so I chose to walk my bicycle until I was on smoother paving. Visibility was low, heavy rain always leaves water on my glasses. But, I have traveled in this matter hundreds of times before and was unconcerned.

She looked a deep breath before continuing. "I was grabbed from behind and thrown against a wall. I know I fell, but the details are hazy. I struck my head on both the brick and the cobble stones, that I know. It might've been then that I lost my glasses.

"I don't remember much. I do remember their faces. I remember," her voice broke, "their hands and the feel of their bodies."

Never in his life had Patrick needed a cigarette more.

Sister Bernadette buried her face in her hands as she cried, Sister Julienne's comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Forgive me, Sister," Sergeant Cooper said in a compassionate tone. "But did the men rape you?"

She nodded. "Yes," she said softly.

He felt angry.

"Both of them?"

"Yes."

He felt sick.

"It was the second man that Constables Adams and Cain interrupted, is that correct?"

Sister Bernadette nodded and took a deep breath. "Yes. When the Constable sounded his whistle, the second man . . ." she paused, obviously looking for the correct word, "Stopped. He stopped, left me and ran. It was this man that the Constables arrested and the man you have in custody now."

Patrick really didn't hear much else. The Sergeant asked a few more questions, clarifying the story, and getting descriptions of both men.

"Doctor," the Sergeant was now standing. "If you carry out an examination of Sister Bernadette for our report. Is this area sufficient, or shall I find another?"

Patrick shook his head. "No, this is will do."

The policemen left, leaving the three of them. Patrick didn't know what to say. He simply opened his medical case and retrieved a pen light. She said she had struck her head.

He leaned against the edge of the desk, looking down into her beautiful face with what he hoped was not a disturbing expression. She gazed back at him.

"I'm going to check your pupillary response, to ensure you don't have a concussion."

She nodded, not taking her eyes from his. Patrick considered himself a very professional man, able to do his job under any circumstances. But looking into her eyes just now nearly broke his heart.

Her pupils responded properly. No sign of concussion. "You said you struck your head. Where?"

She gently touched the back of her head.

"May I?" he asked.

She removed her cap and let her hair loose from the twist that had held it up.

He had never seen her hair before. It was lovely. He moved behind her and gently probed the back of her skull, searching for bumps, bruises, abrasions, or lesions. She made a hiss of pain. He apologized and moved some blood-encrusted hair out of the way to see a cut on a bump. The area was already beginning to bruise. It was a small lesion, the large amount of blood simply due to it being a head injury.

He stepped to the back of the small office as Sister Bernadette begun to fix her hair.

"Sister Julienne," he whispered, she got up and joined him in the back of the room. "In situations like these, I am required to evaluate the entire person and to perform an internal examination," he said softly.

She nodded. "I see."

"I believe it would be less traumatic if you would perform the examination." He didn't say it, but Patrick meant less traumatic for himself, as well as Sister Bernadette.

Sister Julienne nodded. "Of course, Doctor. I quite agree."

Patrick moved to the door and opened his mouth to say something, but didn't know what. He said nothing and excited the room.

He saw the Sergeant standing at the desk in the center of the main room. The Sergeant looked up. "Surely you aren't finished, Doctor?"

Patrick shook his head. "Sister Julienne will be performing the remainder of the examination."

Sergeant Cooper nodded. "I can't say I blame you, or her." He shook his head. "What kind of man assaults a nun?" He handed him the report, "for your findings."

Patrick looked at it. He was instantly surprised. In the line marked "Victim" was her name. She had written "Sister Bernadette, OSRN," but they must've requested her given name. "Shelagh Mannion." He had never known what her given name was. Now, it too, would fill his dreams.

He opened the pen and started to write his findings, but his hand shook. He stared at his hands, trembling. Patrick reached into his pockets and retrieved his cigarette case and his lighter. As he lit up, he regretted not offering one to Shelagh-Sister Bernadette. He would do so following the examination.

A young constable came up to him, "Doctor."

Patrick looked up, the constable was holding Shelagh's-Sister Bernadette's spectacles.

"I picked these up off the street and bent 'em back into shape."

Patrick took them. He wanted to smile in thanks, but couldn't find the strength. "Thank you."

Patrick slumped into the chair behind him, cigarette in one hand, her glasses in the other. "Why?" he breathed. "Dear God, why?"

\- - End Chapter Four - -


	5. Unconditional

The Daily Agony of Love

[3.1] Chapter 5: Unconditional

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

Author's Sidebar: This is the other chapter that is giving the story a T rating.

\- - Nonnatus House, Two Days Later - -

"Can I see her?" Timothy asked before Patrick got out of the car. When he frowned, Timothy asked again, "Please? I want to tell that I'm praying for her to get better."

Patrick's mouth twitched, ghosting a smile, his son really was amazing. "Alright, come on, then."

Sister Evangelina opened the door and led them up to Sister Bernadette's room. They waited outside for a moment, as Sister Evangelina determined if she was ready for visitors. After a moment, they were both ushered inside.

There was a chair between the bed and the door, Timothy sat in it. Patrick stood close behind him, his hand on his shoulder, the other shoved deep in his pocket. "Good morning, Sister Bernadette," Timothy mumbled, looking at his hands folded in his lap. The boy looked suddenly nervous, perhaps it was seeing a nun in her dressing gown in bed for the first time. Patrick, himself, was more than a little distracted.

She reached out and took his hand. "Good morning, Timothy. It was very kind of you to come visit me."

Timothy was staring at their clasped hands. "I prayed for you to get better," he said.

She smiled a sweet smile. "Thank you, Dear. That's very kind, also."

Finally, Timothy looked up at her and they both smiled.

"Come along then, Master Turner," Sister Evangelina said. "Let's leave Sister Bernadette to rest."

When Patrick heard the door shut behind him, he moved around the chair. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I had a headache yesterday, but not since I woke this morning. Otherwise," she released a shuddering sigh, "the same."

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the wound on the back of her skull.

She removed her cap and released her hair from the pins that held it. She only flinched when he touched the bruise. "The swelling as gone down considerably," he said. He studied the abrasion on her cheek, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek. "And this appears to be healing nicely."

She nodded, but did not look at him. Patrick didn't know if he wanted her to look at him or not. Maybe her gaze would be reassuring, as it so often was. Maybe it would be heartbreaking.

The silence between them was crushing. He collapsed into the chair and buried his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he breathed. He couldn't bear to see her like this, nor for her to see him like this.

Her hand grazed his temple, gently moving some stray strands of hair. He took her hand in both of his and pressed his forehead to it, nearly doubled over in the chair. He wished there was something he could do. He wished he could comfort her. He wished it never would have happened.

He had taken an oath to do no harm, but he wished he could personally throttle the life out of the men responsible for her pain. With his bare hands.

Her other hand came around and tipped his head up. Patrick met her gaze, she was sitting up and leaning forward, towards him. To see her beauty, marred by the physical evidence of her assault made him angry, distraught, and many other emotions he simply wasn't accustomed to feeling.

Shelagh leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He didn't move, but released her hand, in shock. The hand he released moved around the side of his neck and threaded into his hair. Her lips moved against his.

The motion brought him to his senses and he leaned back. "Shelagh," he breathed her given name in an attempt to stop what was happening. He felt that if he said "Sister Bernadette" now, he would face eternal damnation for sure.

She put a small amount of pressure on the back of his head, attempting to pull him forward. She didn't seem to notice the use of her given name.

He resisted her. With what strength, he didn't know. "Shelagh, we can't."

She stared at him with those gorgeous blue eyes. "Please," she whispered. She opened her mouth, to say his name, but then Patrick realized she didn't know what it was.

"Patrick," he supplied.

"Please, Patrick."

Patrick leaned forward and met her lips. It was then he realized that he would never be able to deny her anything.

\- - Downstairs - -

"Sister," Timothy asked from the other side of the counter. He was seated on a stool, knocking his feet together quietly. "Why did Sister Bernadette get hurt?"

Sister Evangelina looked up from the instruments on the autoclave tray. "Because the world is full of bad people, and people who make bad decisions."

He shook his head. "I mean, why did God let it happen to her? She's a nun, shouldn't he protect her?"

She motioned for him to come around the counter. "Come here." He did and she put her hand on his shoulder. "God loves mankind so much that he gave us free will. And some people use that free will to do as they please, including hurting others. Sometimes, God causes a miracle to protect some, but not always. If God prevented bad things every time, there would be no free will."

"I don't understand."

Sister Evangelina smiled. "Your father loves you, doesn't he?"

Timothy nodded.

"And he lets you make your own decisions."

Timothy nodded again.

"And sometimes those decisions may not be the best, but he lets you do them anyway. That's because if he made every decision for you, you wouldn't be living your own life. And your father wants you to live your own life. So does God, He is all of our Father."

"But couldn't He have sent us a miracle this time?"

She offered him a motherly smile. "He may still, and that's why we pray."

He nodded severely.

"Now, help me with the rest of these instruments before your father takes you off to school."

\- - Upstairs - -

When she removed her legs from around his hips, he moved off her. He grabbed his trousers, slid them on, and sat near the foot of the bed. Patrick hung his head and wrung his hands. His list of sins was growing ever longer. He wondered where making love to a nun fell in the severity of sins. Lust was one of the seven deadly sins. He hoped God would give him credit on that account. This wasn't lust, she owned his heart.

He felt her move about on the bed for a moment and the weight shift until she settled next to him. He opened his eyes to see her bare feet, toes pointed in order to reach the floor. He was acutely - intimately - aware of how small she was. She had put her simple white cotton night dress back on.

She had retrieved his cigarette case and lighter from his suit jacket. She lit one, took two long drags, and offered it to him. He took it, gratefully. She ran her hands through her hair a few times, straightening it. In his mind's eye, he could still see it fanned out over the pillow as they moved together.

After a few drags, he found the strength to speak. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, staring at his hands resting on his thighs. Would he ever stop apologizing to her? Would it ever be enough?

Instantly, her hand grasped his. "Don't be. I wanted you to." She took a deep breath. "I needed you to." Her thumb ran across the back of his hand. "It doesn't hurt as much anymore." She touched the center of her chest with her other hand, indicating what pain he had alleviated.

"It does for me."

"I'm sorry."

He could feel her gaze boring into him. He turned his head to her. "Don't be. I'll endure any amount of pain, or anguish for you."

She looked away, staring at the wall. But she continued to hold his hand.

Patrick offered the cigarette back to her. "I wrote to you, in the Sanatorium."

She took it. "I never received any letters from you." He watched her smoke, enthralled.

"I never sent them."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . I was afraid of your response, or lack thereof. I didn't want you to have to come home to a man that loved you when he wasn't supposed to. I thought it would be easier for you."

"Oh."

He squeezed her hand. "I would marry you, if we could."

She didn't respond, she just took another puff off the cigarette.

"All you have to do is say when."

"I can't," she said at great length. "This is what I am called to do. To serve God, as one of His own. To care for His people, in this place. I don't know if I could live with myself if I chose a different path, especially if that choice was encouraged by selfishness or forced by grief."

"I understand."

She squeezed his hand. "Can you live with yourself?"

He turned to her again, his heart clenching at her loveliness. "For you, I can."

Patrick released her hand and stood, rounding the bed and retrieving his clothes. She remained on the other side of the bed, slowly smoking their shared cigarette. When she finished it, she stood and smoored it on the window sill, turning back to see him fixing his tie and jumper.

She handed his cigarette case and lighter back to him, which he stored in his jacket pocket before putting it back on. She had told him that it hurt less, but he could still see it on her face. He hoped his own visage wasn't as obvious.

Shelagh rounded the bed and ran her fingers through his hair, no doubt returning it to some semblance of order. She then stepped back and sat on the bed quietly.

He picked up his case and made a move to leave.

"Thank you, Patrick," she said.

"Anything you ever need, all you have to do is ask." He reached for the door. "And if you're ever ready, all you have to do is say when." Patrick left her without looking back. He shut the door quietly behind him.

He paused outside her door and scrubbed his hand over his face. For her, he would live any way he could, including enduring the daily agony of loving her, but not having her.

\- - End Chapter Five - -


	6. Consequences

The Daily Agony of Love

[3.3] Chapter 6: Consequences

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - Nonnatus House, Late Spring - -

Sister Julienne was sitting at her desk. She had been working, but was presently lost in thought and in prayer. Sister Bernadette was recovering well from her assault. It had been more than several weeks, and all seemed to return to normal.

Her original intent was for Sister Bernadette to convalesce for two entire weeks. However, after four days, Sister Bernadette insisted she was well. Two days after that, Sister Julienne relented and placed her on the district roster. She did hold fast and prevent Sister Bernadette from working excessive hours, or after dinner. To be honest, she had been tip-toeing about Sister Bernadette, they all were.

It was really Sister Monica Joan who finally brought a stop to it.

Sister Bernadette had returned from a round of insulin injections.

 _"Sister, allow me to help you with this," Sister Julienne said, reaching for Sister Bernadette's bag. "I know how you like to have all prepared before you retire."_

 _She smiled, drawing Sister Julienne's attention to the partially healed abrasion on her cheek. "There's no need, Sister, I won't be overlong."_

 _Sister Monica Joan had followed Sister Bernadette into the preparation room, her current knitting project in her hands._

 _Sister Julienne attempted to take Sister Bernadette's bag from her. She didn't allow her to take it. "Perhaps you could assist Sister Monica Joan with her handy-craft?"_

 _Sister Bernadette made a face and opened her mouth to protest, but was beaten by Sister Monica Joan. The elderly nun waived Sister Julienne off, "You must cease in your insistent pestering of our dear Sister. She is of firm stock, and strong of faith. She shan't be mollycoddled any further."_

 _A rue smile crossed Sister Julienne's face and she took Sister Monica Joan's hand. "You're quite right, Sister," she glanced at Sister Bernadette and smiled briefly. "Perhaps you'll assist me with my handy-crafts, to distract me from my pestering, and leave Sister Bernadette in peace."_

It was difficult, for all of them. There were times when Sister Julienne would lapse into thought, and the knowledge of the violence and her own inability to affect change or offer more comfort would overwhelm her. She prayed that she could take away the pain, the discomfort, the shame. She prayed she could make Sister Bernadette safe all the time.

In the last week or two, Sister Bernadette seemed to be more withdrawn and reserved; almost melancholy. It made Sister Julienne pray all the more. She wondered what more she could do. This morning, she asked Sister Bernadette to come visit her before attending her afternoon rounds.

There was a knock at her door and Sister Bernadette appeared.

She did not look entirely well, so Sister Julienne offered her a kind, matronly smile.

"May I sit, Sister?" she asked.

"By all means."

She took the seat, almost falling into it. She didn't look up from her clasped hands for several seconds.

"Sister, you seem . . . Troubled, as of late."

Sister Bernadette closed her eyes for a moment, she seemed to be hiding within herself. "I have been."

"You know you can always come to me in times of need. We are all family here."

"I know." Sister Bernadette looked up. "I believe that's why I was so . . . apprehensive on coming to you." She swallowed hard. "That and the fact that I wasn't sure. I'm still not. Entirely sure, I mean. Though I am quite . . ." she trailed off.

Sister Julienne leaned forward slightly, regretting that her desk physically separated them. She wanted to be near her, to offer her comfort, but she felt that moving around the desk at this time would be disruptive. "Sister, what is it?"

She took a deep, fortifying breath. "I believe I may be pregnant."

Sister Julienne didn't respond, only stared in stunned silence. It took her a few moments to realize her response was not helpful, nor comforting. She was about to say "are you sure," but stopped herself. Sister Bernadette had already said that she wasn't. Sister Julienne resumed breathing. "The first thing for us to do is to find out for sure."

Sister Bernadette nodded and retrieved her handkerchief from her pocket, dabbing the tears.

Sister Julienne stood and rounded her desk. She put her hand on Sister Bernadette's shoulder. "I'll take care of everything. And, for now, we'll keep this between ourselves. There's no need to get everyone excited over what may be nothing."

Sister Bernadette looked up. "Pray for me."

Sister Julienne smiled down at her. "Always."

\- - Doctor Turner's Surgery - -

Doctor Turner's receptionist sent Sister Julienne straight through. While she didn't strictly need to speak with him directly, she felt as if she should.

She knocked on his door and shut it behind her as he looked up. "Good morning, Sister Julienne," he greeted her. "What can I do for you?" He gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk.

She sat and took a fortifying breath. "I added an additional sample to the tests you're sending to the labs this week. I was hoping you would call me directly once the results come in."

His brow furrowed, likely sensing her tone. "Of course, what is it?"

"It's a pregnancy test. For Sister Bernadette."

His eyes went wide, clearly as shocked as she had been initially. It didn't escape her notice that he immediately reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarette case and lighter. Sister Julienne could hardly blame him.

"She isn't sure," she said, "But enough so that a test is warranted."

He nodded, inhaling deeply.

"I thought it would be best to label it with a sort of non de plume, in case it was negative. Or positive for that matter. I've no idea what we'll tell people."

Doctor Turner said nothing, he just took another drag off his cigarette.

"It's labeled under her given name, Shelagh Mannion."

He nodded.

"I'll expect your call," she said, standing. She wished he would speak. Sister Julienne considered him for a moment, realizing he was struggling as well. Doctor Turner and his son were as much a part of Nonnatus as the nuns or the nurses, but he didn't have their daily moral support. "And if you feel like you need to talk, I'm always happy to listen."

Still, he didn't respond, so she moved towards the door.

"They already talk, that won't change."

She stopped and faced him.

"News travels fast here," Doctor Turner said. "They know one of the nuns was attacked and they stand around, gossiping and speculating," he sounded angry. She understood how he felt, she was angry as well. "They know it wasn't you or Sister Evangelina, or Sister Monica Joan. They talk about 'the young nuns.'" He paused. "Did you know they think Sister Winifred is prettier?" he sounded mildly offended.

"It's because she smiles more. Doesn't wear glasses. They assumed she was the more likely victim.

He paused and his voice turned quiet again. "But people have seen the wound on her face. They know what happened to her."

He smoored his cigarette. "I suppose that'll make it easier. They'll pity her, not scorn her."

Sister Julienne closed her eyes for a moment. "So as long as we do not pity or scorn her."

\- - End Chapter Six- -


	7. Weighing the Options

The Daily Agony of Love

[3.4] Chapter 7: Weighing the Options

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - Nonnatus House, Late Spring - -

"Nonnatus House, Sister Julienne speaking."

 _"Sister, it's Turner. Your particular test results came in. Positive."_

Her breath caught. As much as she had hoped Sister Bernadette wasn't pregnant, she had known it in her heart to be true already. "I will tell her."

 _"I'll call upon Nonnatus later this evening."_

"Thank you, Doctor. That will be much appreciated."

\- - That Evening - -

Patrick didn't often let himself into Nonnatus House. He typically rang the doorbell and waited to be admitted. However, this evening he let himself in. He wanted to reduce the chance that he would see anyone except her.

He thought of her a dozen times a day, or more. And when he slept, which wasn't often, he dreamt of her.

He looked in the sitting room and the kitchen, she was in neither location. He then went to the chapel. He hoped she was there, and not in her room. He would need permission to go up the stairs.

Thankfully she was there. Sitting in one of the chairs close to the altar. She wore her prayer veil. She must've stayed after Compline.

He sat next to her.

Shelagh-Sister Bernadette did not look at him, but continued to stare forward, her hands folded.

Finally, he found the strength to speak. "Do you know what you're going to do?" How was it that she removed his most basic faculties?

It took her a moment to answer. "No. A nun can't raise a child, but I don't know if I can leave the Order." She took a deep breath. "No. My heart is too full to make that decision now."

He nodded, subconsciously reaching for his cigarette case. However, he remembered where they were and thought better of it.

"I don't know what God wants of me." She looked up to the ceiling for a moment.

"What do you want?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm afraid of loving it too much. How could I give up part of my own flesh? But I'm afraid of looking into its face and seeing one of theirs." She wiped a few tears from her eyes. "I couldn't raise a child if I saw one of their faces every day."

"What if it was my face you saw?"

She looked at him, somewhat shocked. Maybe she had assumed he would never mention it.

"There's a reasonable chance that's its mine," he reminded her gently.

"One in three," she muttered.

He cast his eyes down. "I know that." Just thinking about that fact made him more than a little sick. He wondered if it could be considered progress that it didn't make him angry any more.

"If it is yours . . ." she said quietly, "Could you live with an adoption? Could you ever forgive me?"

He grasped her hand, unable to look at her. "I'll forgive everything you could ever possibly do. And I'll live with anything, so long as you're happy."

She grasped his hand back. "I don't know if I could bear leaving the Order. It's the only thing I've ever known in my adult life."

"I'll marry you," he said without pause or second thought.

She turned to him again. He painfully met her gaze. "Even if the child isn't yours?"

"The child is yours." Patrick answered. He turned away, he couldn't bear to look at her, least of all when there were tears in her eyes. He looked back at his shoes, still holding her small hand in his.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. He wished he knew what to say. Words seemed so small and inadequate.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"Have I not said?" he asked in a husky voice.

"Yes, but say it again."

He turned to her and took both her hands in his. "I want you to leave the Order and be my wife, Timothy's mother. I want to raise your children as my own." He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "But more so, I want you to be happy, to do what you must. And if that means putting my child up for adoption and continuing to live your life for God." Patrick squeezed her hands. "I will live with that." He purposely didn't say 'I will find a way to live with that.' He was already making things difficult enough for her.

He was overcome with the urge to kiss her, but couldn't. Not here. Not sitting in front of the altar of her God. He abruptly released her hands and turned away. He was certainly going to hell, he didn't want to take her with him.

"I should go." He stood and moved to leave. Her voice stopped him.

"Thank you, Patrick."

"For what?"

She wrung her hands. "For the sacrifice you're making now, and the ones you're willing to make."

How was he supposed to respond to that? He didn't know. So he said nothing and left her in silence. Patrick tried not to hear her crying as he left.

"Doctor."

He stopped dead in the main foyer and looked up the stairs to see Sister Julienne on the landing. She was wearing her housecoat, but not her wimple. Had she known he was here?

"Is she still in the chapel?"

He nodded, his voice having left him, again. He was afraid that if he spoke, he would spill every shameful secret he had.

"She has declined to go to Chichester. And I don't know whether or not I am relieved."

"You want to care for her," he stated, not as a question. He wanted to care for her too.

Sister Julienne nodded. "But there is little I can do for the gossip."

He shook his head in agreement.

"We haven't told the others yet. We will, of course. And she told me that once the pregnancy becomes physically apparent, she will stop wearing the habit. She said she doesn't want to present a poor image of the Order. She said it was too hypocritical."

Patrick swallowed hard. So was having made love with him. But he wasn't about to say that. He was paranoid Sister Julienne could see it all over his face, in any case.

"I scarcely know how we'll manage."

"I'll provide for everything, personally." He knew she didn't mean money, but he needed to say it. Patrick wanted to take care of her. He needed to take care of her, in any way that he could; any way that she would let him.

"That isn't necessary," Sister Julienne insisted.

"I know. But I'll do so anyway."

"Thank you, Doctor. We are fortunate to have you."

He wanted to tell her that they weren't. He wanted to tell her that he was acting selfishly. He wanted to tell her that he was in love with Shelagh, the woman she called Sister. Therefore, Patrick said nothing.

"Good night, Doctor."

"Good night, Sister." She followed him to the door and shut it behind him. Patrick didn't even get off the stoop before lighting a cigarette. For her, he would find a way to continue living without her.

Patrick hadn't prayed regularly in years, but found himself praying often these days. "Let her choose me," he whispered.

\- - End Chapter Seven - -


	8. In Limbo

The Daily Agony of Love

[3.5] Chapter 8: In Limbo

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - Nonnatus House, Late Summer - -

One morning six weeks ago, Sister Julienne had come to her door with two smart suits, three nurses uniforms, and a mothering smile.

She hadn't worn her habit since.

Two days ago, Patrick-Doctor Turner had dispatched Sister Julienne to the Mother House for a fortnight of rest. She couldn't help but feel guilty, for she greatly added to Sister Julienne's stress. Sister Julienne told her it wasn't true, but Sister Bernadette knew it was.

Sister Bernadette assumed Sister Julienne's administrative duties. She had done it a number of times before, but everything felt different now.

The nurses and her Sisters had been initially shocked about her pregnancy, to be sure, but most supportive. For only the first two weeks - or so - they were unbearably supportive. It didn't take long for their enthusiasm to wane and interactions with them became bearable, once again.

Sister Bernadette didn't know if Sister Julienne had warned them, but thank God none of them made a single comment about her not wearing her habit.

Well, that wasn't quite true. That evening, when she was about to go into Compline, she was approached by Nurse Miller and Nurse Franklin. Nurse Miller had a small object wrapped in tissue paper. She handed it to her with her soft smile, Nurse Franklin smiling gently over her shoulder.

Sister Bernadette opened it. It was a black mantilla, gorgeous but simple. She didn't know what to say.

Nurse Franklin gently took it from her hands and affixed it to her hair with a kirby grip.

She thanked them and joined her Sisters in evening prayer.

She knew people talked. Sometimes, she overheard them, but not over often. She knew they didn't think her wicked. Either they knew she was a nun and knew she had been attacked, or they didn't know she was a nun and assumed the title of "Sister" was just that of any other senior nurse. No one knew her secret. No one knew she was wicked. No one knew about Patrick.

She struggled with it on a daily basis. He had given her such a gift of healing. How could something so beautiful, something gifted by God to man, be a sin. Yet, it was. She had promised. And in a moment of weakness - great weakness, to be sure - she had forsaken her vow. She prayed to God to forgive her transgression, but likewise thanked him for his mercy and for Patrick.

Sister Bernadette felt trapped in between the two possibilities of her life. Nurse or not nurse. Mother or not mother. God or not God. How could she possibly choose "not God?" She had to continually remind herself that if she chose to leave the Order so she could mother her child, she would not be abandoning God. After all, He sent the child to her.

Was He sending the child to her? Was He sending her to Patrick? Or was there some family out there who were unable to have a child of their own, and she was just the vessel of God's gift? Thinking about it was almost too painful at times.

The telephone rang and interrupted her thoughts.

"Nonnatus House, Sister Bernadette speaking."

 _"Sister,"_ it was Patrick-Doctor Turner. _"I was hoping you would grant me a favor."_

"Of course, Doctor, if I am able." She immediately wanted to regret her decision but couldn't help saying 'yes' to him. She justified it by reminding herself that they were colleagues and colleagues often granted favors to each other; not that she immediately said 'yes' because she loved him more than almost anything.

 _"The Gait Assessment Clinic is this Friday at the Community Center. I have an appointment I simply can't avoid. Would you be able to take Timothy?"_

"Certainly, Doctor. I would be happy to." Why did she have to say that? She could've simply said 'certainly.'

 _"Thank you. I'll drop him by in the morning."_

\- - Friday, the Gait Assessment Clinic - -

Timothy fiddled with one of the straps on his leg braces and knocked his knees together. He was nervous. His legs had been getting stronger, but he didn't have much balance. He just wanted to be normal again.

He looked around the room to see a bunch of kids just like him. Well, they were not just like him. They were all sitting next to their mothers.

He was sitting next to Sister Bernadette. She had stopped wearing her nun clothes, and it was pretty obvious she was going to have a baby. He had asked Dad about it.

Dad said that because nuns weren't supposed to have babies, she stopped wearing her nun clothes to "keep up appearances." He then asked Dad that if nuns weren't supposed to have babies, what was she going to do with the baby once it was here.

Dad had frowned at the question and didn't answer immediately. He then told him that Sister Bernadette didn't know yet. He said that she could either stay a nun and give the baby up for adoption, or stop being a nun and keep the baby. This of course brought up more questions. Would she still live at Nonnatus, if she kept the baby? What would he call her? How would she live? Would she work? Who would take care of the baby?

Dad had waived off all these questions and told him to leave Sister Bernadette's business to Sister Bernadette in a mildly cross manner.

Timothy looked up at her. Her hands were folded in her lap and she looked ahead. She was wearing a pretty blue suit and her hair was up in some kind of twist. He thought she was too pretty to be a nun. He thought she should be a normal person.

"Timothy Turner," the nurse called his name.

Sister Bernadette looked down at him and smiled. They stood together and followed the nurse behind the curtain. He sat down the in the chair.

"If you'd just help with removing the braces, Mother," Nurse said.

Timothy's eyes went wide and he stared at Sister Bernadette.

"I'm not his mother," she said rather suddenly.

Nurse looked mildly confused. "I'm sorry . . . Miss . . ."

"Mannion," Sister Bernadette answered quickly. She crouched in front of him and started removing his braces, ducking her head. Timothy thought her face looked a little red.

 _Mannion_? Timothy wondered. Was that her last name? He supposed she had one. Everyone had one. Some people had two. Like his friend Jacob. His last name was Carter-Jones.

He wondered if that meant he was supposed to call her Miss Mannion instead of Sister Bernadette. She squeezed his knee gently and smiled kindly at him.

It was then that Tim realized he wanted to call her Mum.

\- - End Chapter Eight - -


	9. Birth

The Daily Agony of Love

[3.7] Chapter 9: Birth

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - Nonnatus House, Early November- -

Sister Bernadette felt as big as a house. She was certain she looked like one as well. While Nurse Franklin continued to insist that she was a "very cute pregnant woman," it was extremely hard to believe at this point.

The statistics told her that most first babies are born between 36 and 39 weeks. But here she was, forty weeks on the dot and not so much as a single Braxton Hicks contraction. She was trying to stay busy, hoping the activity would start things moving.

She had whole-heartedly agreed with Sister Julienne when she made the decision several weeks ago that she would no longer go on rounds, nor be on call. She still assisted with Tuesday's Clinic and Thursday's Mother-craft, and, thankfully, Sister Julienne delegated many of the administrative tasks to her. But she was under strict orders not to overexert herself. Therefore, she found herself idle for achingly long hours at a time. She was going stir crazy. Fortunately, Sister Bernadette could take advantage of everyone being out on their rounds to engage in some forbidden (mildly) strenuous physical activity.

Therefore, she was presently on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor of the preparation room. The physical activity was unexpectedly invigorating. It was also tiring. Her aforementioned house-sized-self did tire easily. Once she was half finished with the floor, she heaved herself off the floor and onto one of the stools in the room, taking a short break.

As she waited for the ache in her bones to lessen and the beating of her heart to slow, she glanced at the cabinet which held her medical bag. It was silly, she knew, but there was no one around to see. She got up and retrieved the bag, setting it down on the counter next to her perch. Sister Bernadette retrieved the stethoscope from it. She fitted the earpieces to her ears and moved the membrane around her abdomen, listening for that familiar sound.

She stilled her hand, a soft smile gracing her face, as she heard the sound. The heartbeat of her baby.

Sister Bernadette hadn't realized her eyes had drifted shut until a the sound of a loud manly gait thundered into her senses. She jumped, startled at the sound. "Patrick!" she exclaimed, seeing him handing in the doorway, holding his bag.

"Shelagh, is something amiss?"

She was puzzled for a moment, no more, before she realized she was still holding the stethoscope. She blushed. "No, Doctor. It's nothing."

He smirked gently, and approached her slowly with an inquisitive gaze.

Sister Bernadette averted her gaze for a moment. "It's silly."

"I promise I won't laugh," he assured her.

"I was listening to Baby's heartbeat. Just because I simply wanted to hear it."

A sweet smile covered his face. "That's not silly at all."

His smile made her heart thump inside her chest. It was at this moment that Baby started to move. She pressed her hand to her abdomen. Sister Bernadette rubbed her hand back and forth slowly, in what she hoped was a comforting gesture to its occupant.

"Movement?" Doctor Turner asked, glancing up into her face.

She nodded. "Would you like to feel?" she asked, somewhat shyly.

The question hung between them for a moment or two. He slowly reached out as he moved forward, somewhat entranced. He reminded her of someone approaching a skittish horse. His hand barely skimmed hers as he placed his palm against her abdomen. His teeth shone in a great smile and he met her gaze.

They were grinning like idiots at each other when another noise interrupted them.

"Goodness Gracious!" Sister Evangelina exclaimed, entering the clinical room like a dervish.

Doctor Turner jumped and stepped back from her.

"It's so windy in those streets, I nearly took flight!" she exclaimed, setting her back down on the counter top. At this point, she seemed to notice Sister Bernadette and Doctor Turner. "Doctor Turner, what brings you by today?"

He recovered his wits quickly. "I came by to see Sister Julienne. Mr. Jameson does, indeed, have shingles. I've prescribed him an anti-inflammatory and a topical analgesic. I would appreciate if someone could check in with him over the next several days to ensure things are improving."

Sister Evangelina nodded. "Of course, Doctor. We'll add him to the district roster." It was at this moment that she noticed the bucket and scrub brush on the floor. Doctor Turner immediately dropped off her radar and she turned all of her energy on Sister Bernadette with a scolding gesture. "You are not to be scrubbing floors, Sister."

Sister Bernadette tried to respond, but was silenced by Sister Evangelina.

"Parlor!" She pointed. "Feet up!"

Sister Bernadette looked up at Doctor Turner, who gave her a sympathetic look. She started towards the parlor, but paused. Turning back to Sister Evangelina, she spoke "Would you like to feel Baby move, Sister?"

Sister Evangelina's expression softened and she put her hand on Sister Bernadette's abdomen. She smiled. "Don't think that this is distracting me from your scrubbing the floors," Sister Evangelina said with a conspiratorial tone.

Sister Bernadette smiled. "I would never be so presumptuous."

Sister Evangelina waved her on. "Off with you, I'll finish the floor and join you when I've finished."

"Thank you, Sister." She tried not to notice Doctor Turner watch her leave.

When she got to the parlor and put her feet up, she realized how much they had been aching. Her reclined position released the tension in her back. Goodness, was she going to be pregnant forever? She ran her hand over her stomach, feeling the vertebrae of the infant spine inside. She smiled softly. The baby was grown, it wouldn't be long now.

\- - Nonnatus House, Two Weeks Later, Midnight - -

Sister Bernadette jerked awake, confused for a moment. She had been dreaming that she wasn't pregnant. If people asked her what she was dreaming of, that's what she would've said. In the silence of her prayers, she would admit to God that she was dreaming about Patrick again.

He had been so gentle with her. Somehow she knew that it wasn't just because she had been attacked two days prior. He was always gentle. With everyone. It sometimes made her heart ache to see him caring for babies at clinic. To be completely honest, it sometimes made her heart ache to just see him.

She suddenly became aware of a wetness in her bed. She switched on her light and pulled back her bed coverings. It certainly looked as if her waters had broken. That was odd, she hadn't felt any contractions. Still, she supposed she should get up and tell someone. Even if she was simply going to go right back to sleep and wait to see what the morning brought.

She was one step away from her door, where her housecoat hung when her entire abdomen and back tightened simultaneously. Sister Bernadette put her hand on the wall, waiting for the contraction to pass. She laughed softly to herself. She had spoken too soon. She retrieved her housecoat and went directly to Sister Julienne's cell.

\- - Nonnatus House, The Next Evening - -

They had called him early in the morning. Shelagh-Sister Bernadette had given birth in the small hours of the night. A girl. No complications. He had told Timothy over breakfast, and Timothy was extremely interested in meeting the new baby. Patrick had spoken to Sister Julienne, and they both agreed this evening would be a lovely time to visit.

"Now, Tim," Patrick made eye contact with his son. "We mustn't ask Sister Bernadette too many questions. We don't know whether she has decided to keep her baby or not. It's a very difficult decision and we don't want to upset her."

Tim shook his head, agreeing to not upsetting her.

"And, if she's not keeping her, she probably hasn't named her. So, don't ask her Baby's name either."

Tim's mouth scrunched up in concentration. "Then what can I ask her?"

Patrick took a fortifying breath and smiled. "You can ask her how she is feeling today and you can compliment the baby."

Much like the day they visited her after her attack, they were escorted up the stairs by Sister Evangelina and made to wait outside Shelagh's cell as she inquired if she was ready for visitors. Patrick kept remembering the last time he was in her room. The day they very possibly conceived the baby he was about to meet.

He knew it wasn't a great chance that the child wasn't his. But since he found out she was pregnant, he couldn't help but think of the child as his own.

Sister Evangelina opened the door and allowed them inside. Again, there was a chair next to the bed, but Timothy did not sit in it. He instead stood as close to the head of the bed as he could and peered into Shelagh's arms.

"Hello Timothy," she said. Shelagh had Baby up on her shoulder was gently patting her back.

"Hello Sister Bernadette," he responded almost absently, staring at Baby.

Baby released a small belch, at which Timothy started and then laughed. The realization that she had been just breastfeeding moments ago struck Patrick to his core.

"Would you like to hold her?" Shelagh asked Timothy.

Timothy quickly looked up at Patrick, seeking permission. Patrick smiled at his son. "Sit down, Timothy."

The boy sat in the chair. Patrick moved around him and gently took Baby from her mother. With the greatest of care, he handed his daughter-her daughter to his son.

Timothy smiled and looked up at Shelagh for a split second. "She's very pretty," he said.

Shelagh blushed. "Thank you."

"How are you feeling?" Patrick asked her.

She didn't answer for a moment. He thought she was trying to determine whether his question meant more than the simple words said. "Relieved," she finally said.

There was a knock at the door. It was Nurse Mount. "Excuse me, Sister. Doctor, it's Chummy's mother."

"Come on, Tim," Patrick moved to take the baby from him.

"Dad, can I stay a while longer?"

Patrick considered it.

"I don't mind," Shelagh said.

"Very well. I'll be back for you later." He ruffled his son's hair and ran the back of his index finger down the baby's face. He made eye contact with Shelagh before leaving. "She is beautiful."

\- - Nonnatus House, Two Days Later - -

Patrick had left Timothy home this time. He wanted to see the baby in closer detail. He wanted to talk to Shelagh alone.

He let himself into Nonnatus House. He went straight to the sitting room. It was empty. He heard an infantile gurgling from the other side of the settee and saw the Moses basket. Shelagh must've stepped out for a second. He slowly approached the basket and looked down. There she was.

He took off his overcoat and laid it across the settee before picking up Baby. He moved back and forth gently, calming her. He stared at her face, trying to see his own. Trying to see similarities between this baby and Tim when he was days old.

"I don't think she's yours," her voice startled him.

Patrick turned to her. She was holding a tea cup. He couldn't help but notice that she wasn't wearing her habit, but a simple lavender-purple dress. Her hair was down. He had thought she would return to wearing her habit after the baby was born. She set her tea cup on the mantel and stood close enough to him that she could look into her daughter's face.

"I don't see your face when I look at her."

He was almost afraid to ask. Afraid of the answer. "Who's face do you see?"

"If I look hard enough, I can see it in the eyes. I know which one of them it was." She looked up at him, eyes shining, and smiling. "But when I look at her, I see the face of an angel. My own personal angel."

His heart skipped a beat. "So, you're going to keep her?" he breathed.

She turned her face down, looking at her daughter. "You already think of her as yours, don't you?"

"Oh, Doctor Turner," Sister Julienne interrupted them. They quickly moved apart, putting a foot or so between them. "You've come to see our little miracle, Angela."

Patrick looked at Shelagh. "You named her Angela?"

Shelagh nodded. "Angela Julienne." She retrieved her teacup and took a sip, attempting to hide her smile behind it. "Do you like it?"

Patrick nodded, gazing into the angelic face. "It's perfect."

\- - End Chapter Nine - -


	10. Third Time's The Charm

The Daily Agony of Love

[3.8] Chapter 10: Third Time's the Charm

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - Turner Residence, Early December - -

"Dad, I've been thinking."

Patrick looked up from The Lancet to see Timothy standing on the stairs in his pajamas, housecoat, and slippers. He had been sent to bed almost an hour ago. "Thinking about what?"

Timothy joined him on the couch. "Sister Bernadette. I mean, Nurse Mannion."

'You and me both, Son,' Patrick thought to himself. "What have you been thinking?"

"Well, really, I've been thinking about both her and Angela." Timothy paused and plucked nervously at the belt on his housecoat. Patrick waited patiently. "I've been thinking that they're like us."

Patrick's brow furrowed, unsure where his son was going with this.

"I mean, because Angela doesn't have a dad, and I don't have a mum anymore." Timothy rubbed his hands on his thighs. "And no one could ever replace Mummy. I love her. But loving someone new doesn't mean you love the old person any less." He was starting to ramble.

"Tim, what are you going on about?" Patrick stopped his son.

"You could marry her," Timothy blurted out.

Patrick stared at his son in shock, mouth slightly agape.

"Nurse Mannion, I mean. You could marry her and she could come be here and be our Mum and you could be Angela's dad. And I would like having a little sister. I know a lot of boys in my class don't like their sisters, but I already like Angela, even though she doesn't do much yet."

"Tim, slow down," Patrick finally got a word in edge-wise.

Tim finally looked up at his father. "I love Nurse Mannion," he admitted bravely. "And I know you like her, and you have loads in common." Timothy looked at his slippers, silence rushing in after his outburst. "I was hoping that would be enough," he muttered.

Patrick was dumbstruck.

After a few seconds of silence, Timothy looked up at him again. "I'll ask her, if you want," he started out slow but was quickly picking up speed again. "Then she'll know that I want her, too. Maybe she'll say yes because she - maybe - she wouldn't mind being my Mum too. I'll tell her that I won't be too much trouble, and I'll help take care of Angela." Timothy's words were moving a mile-a-minute.

"Can I tell you a secret, Tim?" Patrick asked, interrupting his son.

Timothy stopped talking and looked up at his father again. "Yeah."

"I love her, too." Patrick exhaled deeply, it was the first time he actually ever admitted it aloud. "I want her to come here and be your mum, and I want to be Angela's dad."

Timothy's face lit up. "Really?!"

Patrick laughed. "Yes, really."

Timothy jumped to his feet. "Well, let's go ask her!"

Patrick caught his son's arm. "Not tonight, it's too late."

"First thing tomorrow, then, right? We'll go over to Nonnatus, and, and - Wait. You should probably get her flowers. And a ring. Girls are supposed to get rings. Do you think we should get Angela something to?"

Patrick pulled Timothy back to the couch, still laughing. "Sit down, Tim. You're getting too excited."

"Too excited?! We're getting a new mum! You know, I should probably ask her. I don't want you to muddle it. And we _know_ she likes me."

Patrick tilted his head at his son with an ever-suffering expression. "Let me do the talking. A marriage proposal really should be between a man and a woman, not a man, a man's son, and a woman."

Timothy studied him skeptically. "I'll write her a note for you to give her, so she knows we both want her."

Patrick smiled. He offered his right hand to his son, who shook it firmly. "We have a deal. We'll go to the jewelers tomorrow and get a ring. And I'll ask her on Tuesday, after clinic. So don't tell anyone. It'll be our secret until then."

\- - Poplar Community Center, Tuesday, After Clinic - -

Patrick had been a little giddy all day. He was sure a few people noticed it, but thankfully no one said anything. Shelagh had disappeared a few minutes ago into the kitchen with Angela.

The other nurses and the nuns were starting to clear everything away, so he saw his chance. Patrick quietly escaped to the kitchen.

Shelagh was bent over Angela on the countertop, kissing her tummy. She stood up and wrapped her back up in her swaddling before placing her back in her pram. She turned and saw him.

She must've picked up on his mood, because she blushed slightly when she saw him. "Hello, Patrick."

The way she said his name . . . "Hello, Shelagh," he smiled. He closed the distance between them and pulled the carefully wrapped ring box out of his pocket. They were staring at each other, both trying to hide embarrassingly large grins. He held it out to her. "This is for you. From me. And somebody else."

She tore her eyes away from his and opened the wrapping. Tim had drawn her a small picture with a message. "Please will you marry my dad," she breathed.

He was biting his lip. Patrick couldn't remember being so nervous. Until she looked up at him and a grin of joy graced her face. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

Patrick stepped closer to her and took the ring box from her, removing the ring and slipping on the correct finger. Her hand felt like the most precious thing. Struck by inspiration, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the ring.

Shelagh turned from him and he released her hand. She picked up Angela and turned back to him with a smile. She hand him the baby, "Here's your daddy."

\- - End Chapter Ten - -


	11. The Second Christmas of This Story

The Daily Agony of Love

[Series 4 Christmas Special] Chapter 11: The Second Christmas of this Story

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

Author's Sidebar: The first part of this chapter was a late addition. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed thinking it up and writing it.

\- - Nonnatus House, December 23, 1959 - -

All the talk of white dresses, flowers, China patterns, guest lists, and the like had made them both feel overwhelmed. Because it only took three weeks to call the banns, which conveniently aligned with the twenty-fourth of December, Sister Julienne recommended they simply get married after the Christmas Vigil Mass.

Both Shelagh and Doctor Turner had tried to protest. However, no one could think of a good reason to wait any longer.

And the look on both of their faces, despite their poorly worded protests, made it very clear to everyone, Sister Julienne in particular, that both Shelagh and Doctor Turner were relieved and excited at the suggestion.

So it was decided.

The Vicar was informed and the invitations were made.

Shelagh walked on air for those weeks. And Doctor Turner arrived each Sunday morning to escort her to mass, Timothy in tow, and a large grin on his face. The only thing that made him grin larger was when he looked at Angela.

The pre-wedding jitters set in on the twenty-third of December, moving day. The intention was to move all of Shelagh and Angela's things to the Turner's flat today, except for an overnight bag, which she would take with her tomorrow. Shelagh and Angela would go to their new home directly following the Christmas Vigil service.

Sister Julienne and Sister Monica Joan were helping Shelagh pack the few items she owned, and deciding what the bare essentials for a single night were. The bare essentials for a month old baby were quickly exceeding what Shelagh needed for herself.

"It's not too soon, is it?" Shelagh asked suddenly, collapsing on the bed.

Sister Monica Joan looked up questioningly, a simple floral print dress hanging from her hands.

"Too soon?" Sister Julienne repeated.

"The wedding." Her lip trembled for a moment. "Patrick's so well respected, and not to mention Nonnatus House. I couldn't bear bringing shame-"

Sister Monica Joan silenced her. "There is never shame in love. And the masses see what we see." She sat down on next to Shelagh. "Our Sister being rewarded for her bravery with a good man and a loving family."

Shelagh smiled and took Sister Monica Joan's hand in hers.

Angela made a noise, waking from her nap. Shelagh moved to retrieve her, but Sister Julienne motioned for her to sit. She gathered the infant and returned her to her mother, and took a place next to her on the bed.

Shelagh kissed her daughter's forehead and held her tightly.

Sister Monica Joan was correct. There wasn't a scandal. People simply thought it was a natural fit: the kind, widowed, physician taking in the unwed nurse and former nun, ousted (amicably) from the Order due to her child born of assault. The people didn't see what she had seen.

The anguish.

She had seen it on a daily basis. She wasn't sure when she noticed, when she realized for sure. But Sister Julienne knew Doctor Turner had been in love with Shelagh for some months before Angela had been born. And, as for Shelagh, well, once Sister Julienne realized her Sister felt the same for the Doctor, everything became clear: the difficulty she had been having before her tuberculosis diagnosis.

The silence.

The tears.

Sister Julienne watched Shelagh hold her baby. She smiled. The Lord worked in mysterious ways.

\- - All Saints Church, Midnight, December 24, 1959 - -

It had been years since Patrick had attended church on a regular basis. But these last three weeks, he found himself sitting in a pew next to Shelagh and Timothy. Angela seemed to enjoy services, always being quiet and content. Patrick suspected she simply liked hearing Shelagh sing, he and Timothy certainly did.

Today, he sat in the pew with Shelagh, Timothy, Angela, and the nuns. The nurses, the Noakes', the Buckles, and Mrs. B. sat behind them. Two of Patrick's three brothers and their families were also in attendance. The oldest, James, couldn't get a plane or ship from Canada on such short notice.

Usually, Shelagh wore a black veil to church, but today she was wearing a white one with her pretty green Christmas dress.

They sung "Joy to the World" as the exit song and all stayed in their pews as the rest of the congregation meandered out of the church, wishing each other merry Christmases and happy New Years.

It wasn't quite ten minutes when the vicar returned. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together excitedly. "All in attendance?"

The entire party answered positively. Patrick and Shelagh were grinning too widely to respond coherently.

"Well, come on then."

After a bit of shuffling around and handing Angela to Sister Julienne, Patrick found himself standing in front of the altar holding both of Shelagh's hands in his.

Christmas hadn't always been his favorite time of year. But it was now.

\- - - Fin - - -


	12. New Life

The Daily Agony of Love

[Series 4 Christmas Special] Chapter 12:New Life

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

Author's Sidebar: I had never planned on writing this chapter. It was kind of just floating around in my head, so I put it down for you all. Then it turned into two chapters. Enjoy!

\- - Turner Residence, December 25, 1959, just past midnight - -

They had strategically avoided each other since they got home. She didn't think it had been a conscious decision, by either of them, but none-the-less.

She had left Angela with him when she visited the WC, and by the time she had returned, Patrick had changed into pajamas and was wearing his housecoat. He was moving back and forth across the room with Angela in his arms. She was fussing and he was trying to calm her. Patrick smiled up at her.

"I think she's just tired. She's had a big day."

Shelagh smiled. "We all have."

They stared at each other for a moment, simultaneously sheepish and giddy.

"I'll go check on Timothy, make sure he's tucked-up in bed," Patrick said. He moved somewhat suddenly and performed a gentle handoff of the baby to Shelagh.

She took the opportunity to put on her nightgown before picking Angela back up. She turned towards the bed, it suddenly looked very large. Very large, yet very small for two people. Shelagh wondered which side was Patrick's. She surveyed the bedside tables. They both had lamps. The one closer to the door also contained two copies of The Lancet, a novel, and a clock. The other contained a bible. Shelagh smiled, Patrick was nothing if not considerate.

So, she sat on her side of the bed and tucked her legs beneath her. Shelagh undid several buttons on her nightgown and settled Angela to her breast, where she helped herself. She started out a little desperate, clearly distressed by all the activity and the late hour, but calmed quickly. Perhaps it was the milk, perhaps it was the warmth of her skin or the beat of her heart, but Angela was soon calm and content. One small hand pressed up against her little neck, the other splayed wide against Shelagh's breast.

Shelagh traced her finger over Angela's fingers, one at a time.

She was lost in admiring her daughter when there was a light knock on the door. It was followed by a pause. Then the door opened slowly, and Patrick stepped inside.

"Patrick, you don't have to knock on your own door," she told him.

He shrugged. "I didn't want to startle you." He shucked his housecoat and settled next to her. "Timothy is in bed with strict orders not to get up until after seven." He pulled the quilt up to his chest and folded his hands across his chest, and closed his eyes.

She glanced at him. "Patrick," she said softly.

He made a sound, indicating her heard her, but didn't open his eyes.

"You don't have to close your eyes. I know you want to see."

He cracked one eye open and looked up at her. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Shelagh glanced at him, but turned her gaze to Angela. She was too embarrassed to make her next statement while looking at him. "You've made me uncomfortable for some time, Patrick, but not an entirely bad sort of discomfort."

When she glanced back down at him, he had opened both his eyes and was smiling softly at her. She couldn't help but smile back. He reached out, took her hand, and brought it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles twice before releasing her hand and folding his across his chest again.

Shelagh shifted Angela to the other breast and leaned back against the headboard. She could feel Angela's strength waning as she fell asleep, so Shelagh took the opportunity to pray. She thanked God for another year, even though it had been more than a little tumultuous. She thanked Him for her Sisters, for Patrick, for Timothy, and for Angela. She prayed for those less fortunate, and that her children would grow strong. And she prayed for her marriage.

Angela had fallen asleep.

Shelagh shifted the baby against her and adjusted her nightgown. She looked down at Patrick, a hopeful expression on her face. It quickly turned into a frown when she realized he was asleep. She had been hoping they would make love. Shelagh considered waking him, but there was a peaceful smile on his face and she couldn't bear the thought of it.

She sighed to herself gently got out of bed, settling Angela into her cot. She kissed the girl's forehead and returned to bed. She cuddled down into the quilt and turned to face Patrick. She studied him for just a moment before putting her hand over his and closing her eyes. They weren't entirely comfortable with each other yet, and their marriage had yet to be consummated, but at least they had made a start.

\- - Nonnatus House, December 25, 1959, well past midnight - -

Sister Julienne couldn't sleep. They had all come back to Nonnatus House after the Christmas Vigil Mass and wedding. Mass had been pleasant and the wedding had been lovely.

She was so happy.

Yet, there was a sadness that hung over her now. A quiet permeated the House.

Nonnatus House had always been a quiet place, especially during The Great Silence. It was part of the character of the building. Yet, the last month had brought new life to the hours of the night. And now that it was gone, the House felt empty.

Unable to sleep and unable to quiet her mind, Sister Julienne got out of bed and donned her house coat with the intention of going to the chapel. However, she paused in the hallway. The door to Shelagh's room was open. Of course, it was no longer Shelagh's room, but that's how she would think of it until long after it had a new occupant.

Sister Julienne stood in the doorway to see Sister Monica Joan standing in the room. She wore her nightgown and her hair was uncovered. But she didn't look bewildered.

"There is a silence without our Sister and her child," Sister Monica Joan said. She turned to look at the corner where the bassinet had been kept. "They left a void in their departure. A void in this House. A void in my soul."

Sister Julienne sat on the edge of the bed. "They have filled a void elsewhere; one much larger than the one that they have left behind."

Sister Monica Joan joined her. "Odd how she was with us for such a short time, but had become such a part of us."

"We, better than many, understand the importance of a child. Birth brings life to more than just a child."

\- - End Chapter 12 - -


	13. Resolution

The Daily Agony of Love

[Series 4 Christmas Special] Chapter 13: Resolution

Based upon Call the Midwife, written by Jennifer Worth, developed by Heidi Thomas.

\- - Turner Residence, December 25, 1959, well past midnight - -

A noise woke her what she assumed was a few hours later. Angela was crying.

Patrick jerked next to her.

She moved to get Angela, but he stopped her. "Let me," he mumbled.

Shelagh squinted slightly to watch him. He picked Angela up, calmed her for a moment by rocking back and forth and kissing her brow. He then laid her down on the chest of drawers and changed her nappie.

Propping up her pillow on the headboard behind her, Shelagh sat up and reached for Angela as Patrick held her out. He sat next to her, perched on the edge of the bed, as Shelagh opened her nightgown and set Angela to her breast. Mildly shy, she kept her eyes downcast. She knew he was watching her. In fact, she wanted him to. But that didn't mean she could watch him watching her.

"I'm sorry for falling asleep on your wedding night," he said softly.

His words brought her head up and a blush to her cheeks. It took her a moment to regain her wits and respond. "It's your wedding night, too," she said.

He chuckled softly. "But I was the one who fell asleep."

She shook her head slightly, watching her baby. Angela's eyes were wide open, staring up at her. Perhaps slightly confused, as she had been taken from her cot by the arms of her father and was now in the arms of her mother.

"An unfortunate side effect of being a single parent who gets calls in the middle of the night: I fall asleep almost as soon as I'm horizontal."

"I thought of waking you," she admitted, "but you looked so . . . peaceful."

"Always wake me, if you want to."

She shook her head and glanced down at Angela, before shifting her to her other breast.

"Shelagh," he spoke her name quietly. "You - and I - are always going to put children first. But when it's just the two of us, I want you to put yourself first."

"Patrick," she attempted to protest. He was being ridiculous.

"Shelagh," he stopped her. "If you ever want something, or don't want something . . . From me," he spoke softly, looking directly into her eyes. "Just tell me."

She supposed she should duck her head in embarrassment, embarrassment for her lack of modesty, for the subject to which they were referring. But it was so effortless to gaze into his face.

So effortless that it took her several minutes to realize that Angela had fallen asleep. When she broke eye contact with Patrick, he also looked down at their daughter, sleeping peacefully against her mother's chest.

Patrick took Angela from her, lingeringly slightly before her moved off the bed and placed her back in her cot. Shelagh watched him tenderly kiss Angela.

Tender. He certainly was that.

And she couldn't trust him more than she did.

God gave him to her. To her and Angela. He gave her Timothy, and Patrick, and Angela.

Patrick joined her, pulling the blankets up to his chest. He looked up at her, and smiled softly. "Good night, My Love."

She only had to consider it for another moment, perhaps two. But she made up her mind. Shelagh moved over Patrick, placing her hand flat on his chest. She leaned down and kissed his lips. "Patrick," she said softly. "I want something from you."

\- - Nonnatus House, December 25, 1959, well past midnight - -

"I should like for the child to call me "Auntie"," Sister Monica Joan said at great length.

A smile graced Sister Julienne's face. "Title or no, she will always be our sister."

"I'm not entirely sure I always saw her as a sister. I had so often guided her that I feel a maternal bond with her. However, in recent years, I found she spent more time ensuring my welfare and I did hers." She frowned for a moment. "Is this the way of relations between a mother and grown child?" She trailed off for a moment. "My own relationship with my mother was irreparably damaged before she needed me to care for her."

Sister Julienne took Sister Monica Joan's hand. "As I grew into adulthood, my mother came to depend on me in her times of trouble. I found myself as her counsel. And I cared for her in her old age, until the time of her death."

"But she has children of her own now. How will she spare the time for old women like us?" She gripped Sister Julienne's hand tightly, becoming destressed. "I should not wish to take the love reserved for her children."

Sister Julienne rubbed Sister Monica Joan's upper arms comfortingly. "You know, as well as I do, that time may be a finite resource divided among many, but love never is. It is infinite in its supply, and never diminishes, no matter how many it is spread among."

Sister Monica Joan seemed calmed by her words, and they returned to comfortable silence.

She wasn't entirely sure how long they sat in Shelagh's room together. The sound of footsteps interrupted their peace. Sister Evangelina stomped into the room and dropped heavily onto the bed next to her.

"The Great Silence has reigned over this House every night for as long as I can remember. And now I can't sleep without the sound of a screaming baby every few hours."

"It is not the lack of screaming which causes my insomnia," Sister Monica Joan said, "I have become accustomed to being lulled into sleep by her voice."

"Now her voice graces another home," Sister Julienne said, "A home who needs her far more than we do."

Sister Monica Joan looked downtrodden by that response.

Sister Evangelina took Sister Monica Joan's other hand and squeezed it tightly. "But that doesn't mean we're not allowed to miss her. Either of them."

\- - Turner Residence, December 25, 1959, well past midnight - -

Shelagh was warm and safe, wrapped comfortably in her husband's arms.

"We didn't do this last time," she said quietly. "The holding."

His hand moved back and forth across her hip. "There wasn't time."

"No. There wasn't." She reached for his hand and brought it to her lips.

Patrick kissed her temple. "There's time now. We'll always have time."

Angela made a noise. They both froze and waited for the impending cry. Shelagh began to move, but Patrick held her still. "Wait," he whispered.

Angela didn't make any further noise.

"You said we'd always put the children first."

He smiled and kissed her temple again. "We will. But I'll always find time to hold you. I promise."

\- - END - -


End file.
